


An Oncoming Storm

by ArcticLucie



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Did I mention angst, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: A thunderstorm wakes Shepard in his cell in Vancouver.





	An Oncoming Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Just going through old drafts and this felt complete. And made me sad. D:
> 
> Enjoy!

A loud crack of thunder rattled the windows and woke Shepard from the first dreamless sleep he’d had in ages. He teetered on the edge of consciousness for a moment, in that place in between, the only place left where his mind knew peace, and he chased it, fought against the oncoming storm to linger there for as long as he could, but another rumble ripped him from it… just like he’d been ripped from his ship, from his whole goddamn life.

His heart sped up, his body finally taking note of its loss and snapping to attention, as a white hot flash bathed his room in light—his cell as he called it, but he’d known worse, so much worse. The darkness settled in again, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He tensed when he heard the rain begin its assault on the city, a cold sweat amassing on his brow.

Rain used to bring him peace, the promise of renewal, of rebirth, the metaphorical cleansing of his soul. Rain washed the city clean, the dirty streets he roamed in his youth, and purged its sins and Shepard’s along with it. But no more, that peace corrupted by memories carved out in blood, the weight of his sins too great to overcome.

“Lights,” he croaked, but they couldn’t keep the room from melting away before his eyes, every inch of it stripped down to nothingness by acid rain as the scars on his back raged to life, his skin prickling with a phantom pain he knew he’d never escape. It ran too far below the surface, had taken up space in the hollow of his bones years ago.

No matter how hard he’d tried, he could never bury them deep enough, the memories, that night on Akuze, the feel of heavy raindrops mixed with blood pelting his face and the cries of his comrades mangled by the wind and masked by thunder as they met a fate worse than death. And he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop any of it, he couldn’t even breathe as he fired blind into that storm, but it seemed that’s all he’d ever done. All he could ever do, spit into the wind and hope he hit something other than his own fucking face.

Sometimes he did; most times he didn’t.

Another crash, another body down, his own straining against sweat-soaked sheets. He screwed his eyes shut, but the lightning danced on his lids and backlit the Maw on a brilliant white canvas. He opened them to escape it only to plunge right back into darkness, and his panic shot up from Akuze to the skies above Alchera.

He threw off the sheet pinning him to the bed and stood on shaky legs, his body numb except for his back that seemed tethered to the rain, to the acid, to the sweat trickling down his spine. The comm on the wall made a hideous racket as the emergency lights kicked on, but the muffled voice sounded like it squawked from twenty feet underwater, the high-rise flooded inside and out. 

He had to force the bathroom door open with some unknown reserve of strength not exhausted by the trek across the room. He shut it back to keep out the lightning, to stave off what he could of the triggers and his past. His knees gave way soon after, and he hugged them to his chest as he tried to picture the image on the holo hidden safely under his pillow, of whiskey eyes and honey skin, not a strand of raven hair out of place. 

He tried to remember how Kaidan's hand felt on his shoulder, palm scorching his soul and fortifying his heart against anyone else. He tried to remember how a presence that would never be replaced felt off his flank, like his shelter from the rain, like an extra barrier in a firefight, like home when he’d never had one.

But Kaidan, oh Spirits, _Kaidan…._

He was just another peace Shepard had long since lost to memories. 


End file.
